Mixed Destinies
by Wildcat Wells
Summary: [Ri] The Shikon no Tama has been reassembled, Kagome has gone back to her time and given birth to a family. When her strong willed daughter goes in search of an adventure such as her mother, will history repeat itself? How will InuYasha and her react to e


**Mixed Destinies**

Can you feel it? The change. It is everywhere. I can't do anything with out breathing it, smelling it, touching it. It creeps across the skin, stroking as a mother would a wailing child, leaving a tingling sensation after it recedes. 

It is intoxicating, the sensation… It is impossible to describe the desire one has for it; the only way is to experience it in actuality. It is like the caffeine in cacao beans, it's addicting. It leaves me in wonder, contemplating the possible trigger or source for the change, the sense.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. Not just yet, the time isn't right.

However, I can lead up to an introduction. It is dire that you understand my parents before you can understand or even begin to fathom me. 

For starters, my mother is the most free spirited woman I have ever met. There is nothing that can tie my mother down, with, of course, the exception of my father. I think that if she had never given birth, she might still be a free spirit, drifting around the world, learning everyday. Also, she is beautiful, in a delicate, ethereal, dreamy way. Her skin is smooth, creamy, flawless, and pale. Her raven black hair, silken straight, is thick and luscious. Every strand is always in place, never askew or snarled. However, she even makes windblown look sexy, strange way to describe a mom, I know, but I really don't give a damn what society thinks, so bite me. Besides, it is true. Her fashion sense, though slightly "traditional" at times, "impeccable" at best, is always guaranteed to turn heads. She carries herself with pride and grace. 

Next to her, my father, Luis Diego Amado Miché, looks more like the lovesick scrawny schoolboy than the strong, hard-nosed diplomat he is. His hair is like mine; thick, curly, unruly and black as the night. His is coarser than mine, which is softer, but not like my mother's hair, though. He is a Spaniard, whose parents were immigrants to the United States, migrant workers. Abuelito and Abuelita still live in Florida, enjoying the temperature and the wealth their son's success has done for the family. He did hard work in the fields from the time he was very young until he was eighteen, and decided to work in offices for monetary success to keep his family out of the back-breaking labor. His body is still tanned; his muscles extremely well toned and pronounced, his hands quick and agile. He mostly wears business suits, which add a sense of authority and discipline. My siblings and myself were always afraid of him whenever he wore those and we misbehaved. He looked like a looming disciplinarian, not our fun-loving and silly papá. 

My parents' youths were as different as night and day. My father was the son of migrant farmers. My mother was the daughter of a very traditional modern Japanese family that ran a public shrine to the ancestors. Papá worked his fingers to the bone so that his hijos would be able to relax and not worry about where their next meal was going to come from. Mother studied hard in school, learning as much as she could so that she would be able to appreciate life to its full extent. Father believed that God would watch over him and his family. Mother believed that the gods would guide her family and her in life. Father had worked to piece together the shards of his life. Mother traveled into feudal Japan to find shards of the Shikon jewel.

My hermanos and papá would call my mother crazy for even believing in the Shikon jewel, much less the notion that one could travel back in time by falling into a well. They always would say she must have fallen on her cabeza, because how else could someone come up with the fantastic story that she reported as being true? Other times, when my mother would whisper her story to us as a bedtime tale when we were young, my papá would sit quietly to listen. Then, when she was finished, and we were nearly asleep, he would shake his head and tell her what an imagination she had, to be able to come up with such a realistic fancy that could captivate audiences. She would whisper back to him that it wasn't just a woman's fancy, or the doing of an imagination, but it was her reality, her experience. My father would respond with a quick peck on her cheek, before walking out of the nursery.

He never believed her.

As we grew older, my brothers soon began to disbelieve her tale, taking our father's side. 'Mamá,' they would say, 'We outgrew that adventure tale years ago. It physically isn't possible to time travel. We love hearing your stories, but please, don't insist that they are real. It makes us worry about your sanity. Mita must be continuing your delusions. She's the only one who believes you.' 

Then, my mamá would hug me lovingly and respond, 'Of course she believes me. M'ija would never doubt what her mother says. M'ijos, on the other hand, they grow more like their father everyday,' she would lovingly stroke their hair as she spoke, 'More haughty, more intelligent, more handsome. I need to marry you off before you find a girl as free as I once was. She'll play your hearts like a pianist. You need a good home girl. A little rebellion is good, every woman needs to keep strong in defiance of her husband.'

My brothers would always laugh at that. They wanted to know if I would ever get married off, because I wasn't the good housewife that would passively do her husband's bidding. I was the kind that would throw the apron at him when he demanded dinner and tell him to make it himself; I wasn't a twenty-four hour slave. They were right in this assessment; I never was one to be put-down, ordered about or bullied. I had become a sarcastic, quick tongued, athletic girl. The foil to my mother.

We did share some aspects, such as our conviction that her tales were true. I was enchanted with the descriptions of the forest, the village, the youkai, the hanyou, and the jewel. I gravitated towards her descriptions of the hunt for jewel shards, the battles against youkai for the shards, the company she met. Her explanations of how Kikyo had been one of her previous lives, as well as guardian of the Shikon jewel. I was mesmerized by the knowledge that a shard of the Shikon could give youkai and hanyou alike unnatural powers. When a shard was in the possession of a human or inanimate object, such as a mask or inkbottle, similar effects could be seen. I was disgusted by the demon birds that could sense the jewel shards, peck a nest in human chest cavities, living off the flesh of the hosts. I was most enchanted with the way my mother told me of her partner and friend, InuYasha, a hanyou. From the way she would slip into a trance, a faint smile on her lips, a glazed expression in her eyes, whenever she spoke of him, I believed she loved him at one time. She would always change the subject when I would ask her, but she couldn't hide the smile she only wore when talking or thinking of InuYasha.

Also, she gave me the most solid proof of her travels. The necklace had changed, into a solid, chain of gold, Japanese charms to ensure protection of the jewel hanging about the links, and the jewel connected by a teardrop gold cap. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I had been told that only the women descendants of my mother would be able to hold this necklace without feeling pain. She had cast a charm on it upon her return and decision to stay in her time, where she belonged. I knew that if anything happened to this necklace, my mother would be devastated. So, I always kept it on my person. I also knew that this was my ticket to prove my mother correct, prevent my father and brothers from placing her in a mental institution. This necklace was my ticket to and from the fantasy reality of my mother. I was going to go and prove her right, by my life or death.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The old well was exactly as I remembered it. My mother and I would sometimes picnic in the shed that housed the well, where her tales came to life even more. I sat on the rim, my leg hanging over into the gaping hole, my hand gripping the Shikon necklace tightly. With a deep breath, I swung off and plunged into the darkness…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Time for me to conclude at this, leave you all with a cliffhanger. -evil laughter- Actually, I'm coming up on the end of my inspiration, and I would rather be able to write following chapters as comprehensively as I did this one. I promise that I will actually update, as I am doing this for an extra credit grade. Also, this idea just gripped me and I had to get it out. 

FYI:   
This is an OC. This is an AU. This is (soon to be) a Romance, Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Humor. In case you don't know what I'm writing about, as far as fanfic ways, I'm working on my very first InuYasha fic. 

Further FYI:

Some of the vocabulary used in this may confuse some people. Here is the translation and language of origin.

Hanyou: (Japanese) Half Demon

Youkai: (Japanese) Full Demon

InuYasha: (Japanese) Dog Demon

Mita: (Spanish) Nickname for the main character.

M'ija: (Spanish) shortened form of 'mi hija' meaning 'my daughter'

M'ijos: (Spanish) shortened form of 'mis hijos' meaning 'my sons'

Cabeza: (Spanish) Head

Abuelito: (Spanish) Little Grandfather, the main character's affectionate name for her grandfather

Abuelita: (Spanish) Little Grandmother, the main character's affectionate name for her grandmother

Hermanos: (Spanish) Brothers


End file.
